Contact
by and her magical cat Roscoe
Summary: COMPLETE. Part 1 of the limited series: “The Quicksilver Scenario.” Bill and Ralph's desert adventure could turn deadly. Takes place between the 2nd and 3rd Seasons. Rated for nongraphic violence, mild language, and adult dialogue. Hope you enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**Contact**

_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or situations created for TGAH; I am borrowing them purely for entertainment purposes and am making no profit from their use. Thank you to Stephen J. Cannell, the cast, producers, writers, directors, and crew for giving us this wonderful, timeless show and the characters that bring it to life. _

----------------------

Agent William "Bill" Maxwell, FBI, topped the small rise of tumbled rock and scrub brush and sagged against the nearest boulder. He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead. It came away damp, despite the falling temperature.

Night was coming on fast. At the horizon, the last evidence of daylight was a fading wash of orange.

Maxwell's sharp gaze raked across the sky, searching for a telltale flash of red. In the East, a shooting star flared, streaked across the blue-black sky and faded to nothing.

Out of the darkness, a rising wail dopplered across the sand.

"Whaa-aa-aah!"

Maxwell pushed himself away from the boulder and straightened as the warbling cry shot overhead.

"Whoa-oa-oa-oof!"

He flinched and raised his hand to shield his eyes as a fine hail of gypsum sand sprayed into the air. He peered back down the hill.

The last glow of the twilight picked out a slender figure in bright red, streaked with gray. Ralph Hinkley staggered upright, skidding on the loose scree of the desert dune.

"Ralph, if you're through horsing around," he called down, "We're running out of search time here."

The younger man cast a dark look up the hill and slapped at the sand clinging to his red tunic. Another shower of dust billowed up around him. Maxwell waited for the coughing fit to die away.

"Come on, kid," he said as Ralph started picking his way up the slope. "You've got your jammies there to keep you warm, but I'm looking at a serious case of blue garbanzos if we don't wrap up this little fishing trip."

The younger man reached the top of the rise and glowered from under his mop of blond curls.

"But, Bill," he said, "This is exactly how I wanted to spend my Friday night; Flying back and forth across the desert, eating the occasional mouthful of sand. I just don't want it to end."

"Cute," said Maxwell, casting a quick glance at this watch, "Real cute, kid. I hope the Counselor appreciates your sense of humor as much as I do."

Ralph pulled at the short black cape that had gotten twisted over one shoulder.

"Speaking of Pam," he said, tugging on the clasp at his throat, "I should be picking her up right now. It's our anniversary. She was hoping for a nice dinner at Chez Nous and I don't think she planned to eat it alone."

"Anniversary, huh?" said Maxwell.

He jerked a crumpled map out of his hip pocket and shook it open.

"Hold this," he said, passing it to Ralph.

"I don't remember you two getting hitched," he said, feeling in the pocket of his fatigue jacket. "And here I was planning to get you His and Hers handcuffs with-"

His fingers closed on the cool metallic tube of the pocket flashlight. He pulled it out and gave the end a sharp twist.

"-little silver bells," he finished as the light flared.

"It's not that kind of anniversary," Ralph mumbled, holding out the map.

Maxwell barked a laugh and raked the flashlight's dime-sized beam over the page.

"Don't tell me, my junior super hero is all growed up," he said. "I didn't even notice your voice change."

"I do have a son, Bill," said Ralph, "He wasn't exactly an immaculate conception."

"Yeah, how is the tow-headed little tyke," Maxwell said, "Haven't seen him around lately."

He peered at the compass rose in the corner of the map and glanced at the sky, then he pulled the map out of Ralph's grip, turned it 180 degrees, and handed it back.

"I hear he's fine, when I can get Alicia to return my calls," Ralph said. "She took him with her to Miami for a two week photo shoot… six months ago."

"Yeah, he's probably having a ball," Maxwell said, tracking the light along a crease in the paper. "All that sun and sand. They wear bikinis down there that would make your eyes-"

"Bill," Ralph broke in, "Can we get back to our current scenario, please? I remind you that this little desert excursion was your idea."

"Yeah, well," said Maxwell, "That's because our team, that's you and me, Ralph, has unique skills that I thought would come in handy on this particular mission."

"I don't think you can call it a mission if no one sends you."

"'Course you can," said Maxwell, leaning in closer, "Right now, today, it's an unofficial mission. Tomorrow, when we find this whatever-it-is, it'll be a successful mission and Carlisle will try to pretend like it was his idea. We haven't failed yet, kid."

He tapped at a yellow oval on the map. "Did you try over here by this hill?"

Ralph sighed.

"That's mustard, Bill," he said.

"What? No it-"

Maxwell scraped his thumbnail across the map. The hill flaked off and fell to the ground.

"Oh, well, Ralph," he said, "You must have missed something."

He flicked the flashlight up and pointed it out at the night. The beam was swallowed up inches from his hand.

"I don't understand it," he said, "It was a huge blip on the radar at Edward's. It should'a left a crater a mile wide."

"There was no crater," Ralph said, "No smoking hole in the desert floor, not even a squashed lizard. And now there's no light so even if I could see to fly, I don't think I could find your 'whatever-it-is' without a searchlight strapped to my chest."

He gave the map a shake and folded it down the center. "Can we please call it a night?"

Maxwell pursed his lips and turned the flashlight on Ralph's face.

His partner stood blinking in the sudden glare. Under the concentrated beam of light he looked pale and more than a little tired.

Maxwell sighed. He twisted the metal tube between his hands, cutting off the light.

"I hate it when you turn toes-up on me like this, Ralph," he said, directing his words to the sound of crinkling paper. "There's something out there and if we don't find it, somebody else just might."

"You said the Air Force wrote it off as a meteor," Ralph's voice came out of the darkness.

"Yeah," Maxwell said, "Because that's what the eggheads at Griffith Observatory called it. But I saw the print out from the radar. That so called meteor took a sharp left just before it disappeared from the scope."

"Meteors don't steer, Ralph." he said. "It smells like little green guys and if they're out there bleeding green goo all over the sand I'd like to know about it before it shows up on page one of the National Enquirer."

He felt something press against the back of his hand and jumped before he realized it was a folded piece of paper.

"Geez, kid," he said. "What are you trying to do, turn my hair all the way white?"

"Anyway, I was thinking," he went on, taking the map and shoving it back in his pocket. "If it was the little green guys, and if they was sitting in a couple of tons of crumpled space ship, you could, well, give them a hand or something. It could score us a few brownie points which, you must admit, wouldn't hurt next time you want to ask some questions about the suit, like how does it work for instance."

Maxwell paused and heard crunching footsteps moving away on the rocky sand.

"I should have known," Ralph's voice came back from somewhere down the hill. "Bill, that ship was the size of a stack of B-52s and you know it. If it crashed out here, you could see the smoke from Santa Cruz. You were hoping they were in the neighborhood so they'd spot me wallowing around up there like a concussed albatross and offer us another copy of the handbook."

"Ralph," Bill called. "Where are you going?"

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he made out a gray shape moving away along the desert floor.

"I'm going back to the station wagon, Bill," Ralph called back, "If you're lucky, I might make it to Pam's place before the last seating at Chez Nous."

"Yeah, well," Bill said, starting down the hill. "If that's your plan I'd take a right. Otherwise, you're going to wind up swimming home from Baja."

The sound of footsteps crunching over sand slowed and stopped.

"Really?" said Ralph.

"Yeah," said Maxwell, drawing level with the gray shape. "You learn all kinds of handy hints on night maneuvers. How to start a fire with one match and a wet twig, what kind of snakes like to bed down in warm boots, and a little something called celestial navigation."

"Celestial navigation," Ralph said, falling into step beside Maxwell.

"It's an ancient science, Ralph. I may not have a fancy pair of space jammies, but Mrs. Maxwell's little boy still has a few tricks up his sleeve."

"All right, Bill," said Ralph, "Just get me back to my car and all is forgiven. Again."

------------------------

"What time is it now?" Ralph said.

"How should I know?" Maxwell answered.

"I just saw the light from your watch, Bill, what time is it?"

They trudged on in silence.

"Bill."

"11:30."

"All right, we've been walking in the dark for hours," Ralph said. "I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I'm pretty sure I've tripped over the same rock three times. Either I'm going to fly up and look for a landmark or we're going to stop right here before we get even more hopelessly lost."

"We're not lost."

The sound of Ralph's footsteps stopped. Maxwell turned. The moon had yet to rise and Ralph was still just a gray outline, slightly brighter than the surrounding night.

"We're not lost, Ralph," he said, "We just got farther from the car than I thought. Now, we need to keep moving or you're going to be able to use my frozen carcass as a tent pole."

He started walking again, keeping a bead on the pale star that bobbed above the horizon.

"And you can't fly off somewhere," he called over his shoulder. "Because if you lose me in the dark I'm a goner and we're back to the tent pole scenario."

Maxwell heard hurrying footsteps and Ralph drew level again.

"I could fly up just a little bit. I'd stay in shouting distance."

Maxwell snorted.

"Yeah, Ralph," he said, "Sorry to point this out, kid, but you're not exactly known for your navigational control."

There was a pause.

"I really don't think you want to start taking about navigation, Bill."

"For the last time," Maxwell said, "We are not lost, we're just-"

There was a hollow thump beside him and the sound of a body falling back onto the sand.

Maxwell stopped short.

"Ralph?" he said.

"I don't know how you do it, Bill," said a voice from ground level.

Maxwell barked a laugh. A long, rectangular shape resolved itself from the thick darkness.

"100-percent unadulterated Grade-A talent, kid," he said, feeling for the car's bumper. "Down in the geezer freezer, that's what counts every time. You got the keys?"

He heard a metallic jangling.

"Right here," Ralph said. "Just let me- Oh, no."

Maxwell felt his insides go as cold as his outside.

"Talk to me, Ralph."

"It's nothing. I just remembered I left my clothes on a rock instead of putting them back in the car. I'll never find them."

Maxwell relaxed. He started feeling his way around to the passenger side door.

"Sorry, kid," he said. "I'm afraid that coyote we spotted earlier is bedding down in your sport coat by now."

He heard another rattle of keys and the click of a door latch.

"I don't care," said Ralph, sliding into the driver's seat. "I'm so glad to see this car again I could kiss it."

"Don't kiss it yet," said Maxwell. "Wait and see if she starts first."

In answer, the engine rattled to life.

Ralph looked exhausted in the glow of the dashboard. He shifted the gear lever into Drive and pulled out onto the road.

They drove in silence for a few miles. Maxwell concentrated on warming his toes against the register under the dash.

"You know," Ralph said at last. "Now that it's over, I'm almost sorry your plan didn't work out. It would've been interesting to see that ship again."

"Yeah, well," said Maxwell. "I should'a known better than to push it. Those little green guys show up when they're good and-"

He broke off as a blue light flared in the distance off to the left of the road.

"Looks like we spoke too soon," Ralph said.

-continued-


	2. Chapter 2

"You could have just stayed on the road," said Maxwell a few minutes later. "They probably would'a come got us if they had something important to say."

Another rut caused him to bounce in his seat. His head rebounded off the doorframe.

"Slow down, will you, kid," he said, rubbing his temple. "The shocks on this thing were nothing to write home about to start with."

"I think we're almost there," Ralph said.

Ralph's exhaustion had seemed to evaporate at the prospect of seeing the aliens again. He leaned forward over the steering wheel as if willing the car to take off.

Maxwell had a sudden vision of the station wagon soaring skyward like a squashed Herbie the Love Bug. To his relief, it continued to bounce over rocks and shallow gullies.

They hit another crevice and his shoulder collided with the window. The jolt of pain down his arm acted like a dose of whisky, cutting through the buzz of thoughts in his head.

"Stop the car," he said.

"What?"

"Stop the car, Ralph, stop the damn car."

He reached over and yanked on the gear lever. The transmission whined in protest and Ralph slammed on the brakes.

They came to a shuddering stop.

"Bill, what are you-"

"Quiet, kid," he said. "Something's not right. This ain't right."

The car's headlights lanced out into the darkness. Flying sand shimmered in the twin beams.

"Tell me, Bill," Ralph said in the eerie hush.

"Nothing's on the fritz," said Maxwell. "Electricals are all humming along. The radio's not talking to us. I don't know, it's-"

"It's like they don't know we're here," said Ralph.

"Bingo."

"Aren't you curious?" Ralph said after a pause.

"Hell, yeah, I'm curious," said Maxwell. "I just think maybe we hadn't oughta go charging in like the Fifth Calvary."

"You mean," Ralph said, "We should try to sneak up on them?"

"No, not sneak exactly," said Maxwell, "Maybe just some light recon."

Ralph was quiet.

"How is reconnaissance different from sneaking?" he said at last.

Maxwell pursed his lips.

"Look, kid," he said, "You can go charging in hell for leather if you want, I'm just saying this might not be our typical contact scenario."

"Okay, Bill," said Ralph. "I hear you."

He shifted the car into Drive and pulled forward.

"Ralph!"

"Calm down, Bill," said Ralph, cutting off the headlights. "I'm just getting a little closer."

Another blue light flared a few hundred feet in front of the car.

"Close enough," Ralph said. He cut the engine and the headlights dimmed out.

The afterglow of the blue flash faded slowly. A bright dot floated in Maxwell's vision as he reached over and pulled the door latch. He heard Ralph open the driver's side door.

"Leave the keys," Maxwell said. There was no answer, but he didn't hear jingling.

Maxwell couldn't suppress a slight shiver as stepped out onto the sand. The air was bitingly cold.

He reached across his chest with his right hand and felt the solid weight of his revolver snug in its shoulder holster. Reflexively, he tugged his fatigue jacket down so the line fell naturally, concealing the bulge of the gun.

"Bill."

Ralph was giving him a school-teacherly look over the roof of the car.

"What?" he answered. "They knew I was a Fed when they pegged me for this mission, Ralph. They're not gonna be surprised when I show up carrying."

"I wouldn't wave that thing around, that's all," Ralph said. "These are enlightened beings. I'm sure they've evolved beyond firearms."

Maxwell snorted.

"Yeah, I forgot," he said, starting forward into the dark. "They come from the planet of fluffy bunnies. That's why they gave you a magic suit that sprouts flowers instead of stopping bullets."

"I'm not going to argue ideologies with you right now, Bill."

"Good deal," said Maxwell, picking his way across the sand.

"Remind me later."

"Less talking, more walking, Ralph," said Maxwell. He was gratified to hear the younger man keeping pace on his left.

"Do you really think there's something wrong?" Ralph said a few moments later. His voice had dropped so low, Maxwell could barely hear it from the distance of a few feet. "I thought you were just blowing smoke with that story about a crash, but now-"

"I don't know, kid," he muttered. "Seriously, let's ice the chatter until we get a visual."

As his eyes readjusted to the dark, Maxwell thought he could see a pale patch in the darkness ahead. There was no shape, just a faint glow seemingly radiating up from the ground.

"Hold it," he murmured when they were within a dozen yards of the lighter area. He waved his hand in Ralph's direction. "All right, huddle up."

When Ralph moved close enough to touch, Maxwell seized his shoulder.

"Okay," he said in the younger man's ear. "I don' know what scenario they're running here, but it's obvious these green guys don't have their mother ship in the vicinity."

"Unless it's invisible, which I doubt," he said. "But there's obviously something here, 'cause sand don't glow like that."

He pulled Ralph a little closer.

"So here's the drill," he said, so softly it was barely audible. "You circle left, I'll circle right. If you see green guys, I don't care if they're having a teddy bear picnic, you meet me on the other side and report in before, I repeat, before you make a move to contact. Got me?"

Ralph nodded. His eyes were very wide as he stared at the blue glow.

"If it turns out these guys are hostiles, and the balloon goes up," Maxwell went on, "So do you. Start flying. Whoever these guys are, if they've done any kind of sniffing around old Mother Earth, that should give 'em something to think about, 'cause everybody knows, humans don't fly."

"In that scenario, you also do not engage, but meet back here at the transport and start driving like a bat out of hell. I guarantee," he said, "You will not have to wait around for OJ Maxwell. You got all that, kid?"

Ralph nodded. "Got it," he said.

"Good."

"One question, though."

Maxwell gritted his teeth.

"What?" he hissed.

"What if I go invisible and go take a look first?" Ralph whispered.

"As a plan," said Maxwell. "It stinks, kid. They're bound to have perimeter alarms."

"We could trip them anyway," said Ralph, shooting him a look. "And in my scenario we stay closer to the car."

"Nope," said Maxwell. "No soap, kid, sorry. I appreciate your initiative, but we're sticking with the professional scenarios on this one."

"You just don't like it because it was my idea," Ralph said.

"Wrong," Maxwell said, his voice rising. "I don't like it because as scenarios go, it's about as knuckle-headed as they come."

Maxwell took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"End of discussion," he said, "Get ready. On my mark."

He squeezed Ralph's shoulder.

"One, two-"

"Three," Ralph said and he vanished.

Maxwell's startle reflex kicked in and he lost his grip on the younger man's arm. The next instant he thrust out his hand and waved it wildly in the space around him, but he was alone. Over his own panting breath, he heard the soft crunch of footsteps on the sand.

"Damn, it, Ralph,' he hissed. "Get back here, right now!"

There was no response.

Maxwell ground his teeth together. Cursing all boneheaded amateurs and the horses they rode in on, he jerked his revolver from its holster and thumbed back the hammer. After a moment's thought, he reached to the back of his waistband and yanked out the smaller piece he kept tucked away for insurance.

Both weapons armed, he turned the barrels skyward. The one and only saving grace in this cock-up, he thought, was if he aimed low, the suit would protect Ralph from getting whacked by friendly fire.

Probably.

He shifted into an infantryman's crouch and moved crab-wise to his right. A little extra angle of attack wouldn't hurt, he reasoned. If the balloon did go up, he wanted a clear kill shot.

He squinted across the sand at the blue light. There was no flicker in the steady glow to give away Ralph's current position.

Maxwell shifted his stance and took a few slow steps forward. If there was a perimeter alarm, and with their luck there was bound to be, he thought, Ralph would be the one to trip it, strolling up like the damned Galactic Welcome Wagon.

As he slid his feet forward, working at not making a sound to give away his position, Maxwell realized he was moving on a slight up-slope.

A few more cautious steps brought him to an elevation that caused a mental shift in perspective. The blue glow wasn't rising from the sand; it was below the level of the ground. He was looking down an incline at something half-buried.

The blue glow was radiating from a silver metallic hull, imbedded in the down-slope of the hill. It was tough to judge from the part he could see, but he thought it looked to be about the size of a small truck.

"Fan-frigging-tastic," he thought. "That's just great. All we need is a squad of little green guys to come boiling out of there like popcorn out of a popper to make this day complete."

He chewed his lip as he took another sliding step forward. If they got out of this one, he decided, he'd swear off fishing for aliens for good. They had plenty of messes to clean up without borrowing trouble.

His next step took him to an angle where he could see the whole ship. The top half was smooth and unmarked. The bottom half was bent and crumpled like used tin foil.

"Looks like I'm not the only one that wrecks official equipment," he thought with a little satisfaction. "The interstellar Carlisle is going to have something to say about that."

He hoped the driver wasn't wounded. He knew from experience, the cornered and bleeding soldier was a lot more dangerous than one that still had everything to lose.

He added that thought to the list of points he'd make to Ralph as he kicked the idiot's keester back across the desert for him.

There was no way to tell how far the kid had gotten. He was considering the possibilities of trying out a night bird call - he was rusty on birds, but he had no clue how to do a coyote bark – when a sizzling sound made him jerk his head around to the left.

A blazing white spark arced from the top of the dune to a point in the air above it. He heard a sharp yelp, choked off in a grunt of pain.

"So much for stealth," he thought, grimly. "Time to make the most of surprise."

If they ran for it now, they might make it back to the car before the opposition got their little green thumbs out of their ears.

"Kid," he yelled, shoving his guns back out of sight, "Scrub the mission. Fall ba-"

The word was cut off in a storm of spitting, crackling electricity. Blinding bolts of energy rocketed out of the sand.

Ralph was a negative shape, outlined in flashes of brilliant white light. Maxwell saw the slim figure buck and convulse as flare after flare shot up from the ground.

As he started running, he felt his feet carry him in a curving path to the left. Entirely outside his conscious control, his body was keeping him outside the evident kill zone.

The moments seemed to stretch out to infinity as he pounded across the sand. He smelled the sharp tang of static. The hair on his arms was standing out like quills.

He was within a yard of the coursing light, squinting against the glare, when Ralph winked into sight. His back was arced at a crazy angle and he stared at the sky with wide eyes. His mouth gaped open, but there was no sound.

Maxwell reached out, knowing it was an idiot move, and the arcing energy shut off as suddenly as if he'd flicked an invisible switch.

In the afterglow, he saw Ralph sag and fall backwards. He hit the ground like a sack of meal.

Maxwell landed on his knees beside him. A crackling discharge traveled down Ralph's limp body and lit the sand around his feet before dissipating in a faint sizzle.

Maxwell winced as heat from the cooked sand bit through his jeans. He reached out. His hand was an inch from Ralph's arm when a bolt of static leaped across the space and scorched his fingers.

Gritting his teeth, he pushed forward until he felt the smooth fabric of the red suit. His hand closed on Ralph's upper arm and he gasped as a stronger bolt shot up his arm, but he kept his grip.

Bracing his toes in the sand he rose to a crouch and started backing down the dune, grateful for the slippery sand as he tugged Ralph's limp body with one hand and yanked out his service revolver with the other.

He felt a muscle spasm under his hand and tore his gaze away from the top of the dune. The dark was closing in again farther from the steady blue glow of the buried ship, but he saw Ralph's mouth trying to shape a word before he heard the faint breath.

"Wha-?"

The kid was tough. No doubt about it, super suit or no, the kid was tough.

"Take it easy, Ralph," Maxwell said, his voice hushed in spite of himself. "We're making a strategic withdrawal. Just go with the flow."

He felt the boy start to struggle and grimaced.

"You're complicating things, again," he said. "Listen to me this once and keep still till I get us to the car."

Mercifully, Ralph seemed to understand or to pass out. Either way, he stopped wriggling. Maxwell quickened his pace, slithering backward down the dune. They had to be close, he knew.

Any second, he thought, he'd feel the front tire behind his heel. Any second now.

A sudden metallic grinding sound broke the stillness. His head jerked up.

The blue glow brightened, casting the top of the dune into silhouette. A birdlike chittering carried down the slope toward him.

He spared a glance behind them and spotted the station wagon squatting a few yards off to their left.

He weighed the options. It would take valuable seconds to hoist Ralph up and into the car. The enemy had unknown armaments. Their defenses were a given – they'd have bulletproof suits or his name wasn't Maxwell.

He bent sideways and shoved his arm under Ralph's back. With a grunt, he rolled his partner toward him, bracing his shoulder against the other man's abdomen. He sucked in a breath and came up with Ralph bent over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.

Keeping his gun hand trained on the top of the dune, he scuttled sideways. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the car roof a foot away. He grimaced. He'd have to set down either his gun or Ralph to get the door open. The gun was easier to lift. He laid it on the roof of the car and reached for the door handle.

Wrong decision, he thought, as a movement at the top of the dune refocused his attention. A dark shape detached itself from the curve of the sand. A bulbous head rose above wide rounded shoulders.

"Encounter suit," he thought, "Has to be or the thing's built like a tank."

The thing kept rising, unfolding from the scenery. Maxwell estimated about eight feet of alien before it started down the hill toward them.

Only one then, he thought. That's the bright side. Only one of those monsters could fit in that ship.

He crouched and lowered Ralph to the rocky sand. The kid wasn't completely boneless this time; he rolled onto his back under his own power and blinked up at Maxwell.

"You with me again, Ralph?" he said, grabbing up his gun. "Lights on upstairs?"

"Yeah, what-"

"You took about 40,000 volts from a space age barbed wire fence," Maxwell said, tugging out the snub nosed revolver with his other hand. "If it wasn't for the suit, I reckon, you'd be an extra crispy combo platter with chips on the side."

Maxwell positioned himself in front of his partner's prone body and spread his feet in a shooter's stance.

"It's safe to say, this joker ain't one of our little green friends," he said. "Not picking up any brain waves are you, kid?"

"No, nothing," Ralph answered. His voice sounded like sandpaper on gravel. "Bill, your guns don't stand a chance against this thing."

"You're probably right, kid,' he said. "But there's one way to be sure, ain't there?"

He raised both guns and sited between the barrels. He took in a long, even breath, held it, and squeezed off one shot, then another.

The one from the snub nose went wide. The range was too great. But the service revolver scored a hit in the middle of thing's mass. The approaching shape jerked back and staggered. Maxwell allowed himself a grin of triumph before the thing straightened and kept coming.

"Next time you see your space buddies," he said through gritted teeth, "Tell them we could use a ray gun, huh?"

He dropped the snub nose to the ground and gripped the revolver with both hands. The next shot would hit higher. If that thing had a vulnerable spot, he thought, it was the bulbous head.

He heard rustling fabric and realized Ralph was trying to struggle to his feet.

"Stay down, kid," he barked. "Or get behind the car. I can't cover you if you stand up."

As per Standard Operating Procedure, Ralph wasn't listening. In his peripheral vision, Maxwell saw him stagger upright.

"For crying out loud, Ralph," he said. "For once in your life-"

He broke off as the thing coming toward them came to a skidding stop on the sand. It hissed like a startled cat and let out a stream of chittering clicks.

Maxwell glanced over and saw the red and white emblem on Ralph's chest lit up in the blue glow.

"It's your suit," he said, dropping his voice to a whisper as if the thing could understand. "He recognizes it."

"Yeah," Ralph whispered back. "Maybe I should-" He broke off and took step forward.

"No!" Maxwell said. "Ralph, stay back, for God's sake!"

The thing took a step back and dropped a hand to its side.

Maxwell could have painted a picture of how the next few seconds were going to go down. He wasn't wrong.

The thing's hand came up with a weapon. Maxwell squeezed off three quick shots, but the thing got off two.

A bolt of energy slammed into the sand at his feet. The second one hit Ralph square in the chest.

Maxwell's third shot impacted with the thing's head. Wet matter sprayed into the air.

Ralph was falling. The thing rocked back and dropped to the ground, arms flung out wide. It shuddered once and stopped moving.

Maxwell didn't care. He spun and saw Ralph hit the ground before he heard the scream.

-continued-


	3. Chapter 3

Ralph let out another keening wail. His body jerked and convulsed, arms and legs rigid, fingers digging at the sand.

Maxwell dropped the second gun and fell to his knees. He thrust out his hands to grab Ralph's shoulders. As his skin hit the fabric of the suit, red-hot daggers of pain stabbed up his arms.

The electricity was nothing compared to this. It felt as if his flesh was being peeled away. He jerked back and watched helplessly as Ralph thrashed, strangled cries tearing from his throat.

Setting his jaw, he reached out and touched his hand to Ralph's cheek. The skin was wet with tears and sweat and felt hot to his touch, but it didn't burn his hand.

So it was the suit, he thought. Something in that thing's energy bolt was frying the suit and Ralph was frying with it.

Maxwell exhaled. This wasn't going to happen, he thought. Not to his partner.

He shrugged out of this fatigue jacket. Folding the worn fabric over his still aching hands, he reached for the belt at Ralph's waist.

He lost his grip twice as Ralph bucked and the fabric wrapping his hands slid on the hard surface of the belt buckle.

Finally, he got a tight grip on it. To his relief, he didn't feel searing pain. His arms still throbbed, but the pain in his hands had eased.

He felt the hidden catch give and hurled the belt aside. Ralph's screams died down to panting moans.

Progress, he thought grimly and reached for the hem of Ralph's tunic. Part of his mind worked the problem over, while his hands continued on automatic.

The energy bolt had reacted with the alien material. If he could get it away from Ralph's skin, he might stand a chance.

His thoughts rattled on. Earth materials weren't just an effective insulator. They seemed to ease the effects. If the space ray made the suit toxic, maybe Earth fabric could act as an antidote. If he could get Ralph wrapped up in his jacket, he might be able to counteract the effects of the ray before they did too much damage.

He had the tunic up around Ralph's chest. Even in the dim blue glow of the space ship, Maxwell could see the man's skin underneath was raw and wet. As he looked, angry red blisters rose in clusters.

He grimaced. He was going to have to pull the tunic over Ralph's head to get it off.

"Better to do it like a Band-Aid," he thought. He shifted, sliding along the sand to Ralph's head. Renewing his grip, he took a firm hold on the hem.

"Bear with me, kid," he murmured. "This is gonna feel lousy."

He dug in his heels and pulled. The fabric came up easily but he nearly lost his grip again as Ralph's thrashing redoubled.

Ralph's suited arm collided with his own bare one and he gasped at the feel of fiery claws dragged along his skin.

He gave one more convulsive pull and the tunic was off. The cape came with it. He flung both away. The cape spun out across the sand like a bat wing.

Shifting again, he half-crawled, half-skidded to Ralph's feet. Looking up the length of his partner's body, he saw the lean muscled chest rise and fall rapidly with short, shallow breaths.

The convulsions had eased, but now every third or fourth breath, Ralph's chest seemed to seize for a moment before it started moving again.

Maxwell managed to work off the short boots and leggings, while keeping one eye on his partner's breathing. As he tossed them aside he thought grimly that it was lucky Ralph preferred cotton boxers. That was some important skin that had been protected.

Ralph's breath hitched again and it was a long moment before he inhaled. Maxwell prioritized the need as he stood and slipped the jacket off his hands. He draped it over Ralph's wounded chest and watched for the next inhalation. When it came, he let out his own breath.

Focus, Maxwell, he thought. Focus. And try to get a response from the kid.

"Okay, Ralph," he said in something similar to a normal tone of voice. "Here's the drill."

"First and foremost, keep breathing," he said and moved toward the car. "That's your only job right now. Keep that oxygen moving in and out. Think you can handle that?"

Unsurprisingly, there was no response. He yanked open the drivers side door and felt for a lever below the dash. Tugging it, he heard the catch of the wagon's tailgate spring apart.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," he said. "Second, we're going to regulate your core temperature."

The skin on his bare arms crawled in the frigid night air. They were both goners, he knew, if he didn't get some heat started.

Maxwell slid into the drivers seat and felt for the keys. To his not inconsiderable relief, the engine started again. He cranked the heat controls to maximum and set the blowers to high.

As he stepped away from the car, his foot collided with something hard. He bent and scooped up his fallen guns. He snugged them into position as he paced back over to Ralph.

"Priority Two-B," he said. "Fight alien toxins."

He bent and slid one arm under his partner's knees and one under his shoulders. He was careful to keep the fatigue jacket in place as he lifted.

Stepping to the back of the wagon, he noticed again how deceptively light the man was for someone with a fair amount of natural strength.

Ralph shuddered against his chest. Maxwell could hear a damp rattling under the man's labored breaths that said some very nasty things in a language a combat trained soldier knew only too well.

"Didn't quite catch that, partner," he said, and shifted his weight to brace Ralph against his thigh as he reached for the rear handle of the wagon. The door came open on the second tug. Leaning back, he swung the door wide then bent forward.

"I'm assuming what you said was, 'How are we going to do that, Bill?'" Maxwell said. He lowered Ralph into the cargo area.

"Well, I'll show you," he said, feeling around in the dark space. His fingers brushed soft fibers and the next instant he was dragging out a folded woolen blanket.

"A-ha," he said, shaking it out. "I thought I saw this back here. I'll bet you and the Counselor use it when you go on outdoor excursions."

He grinned. "Like family picnics, right?"

"We'll say it's for picnics," he said. "Wouldn't want to shock any passing coyotes, would we?"

Ralph lay huddled on the floor of the wagon, unresponsive.

Maxwell pursed his lips and bent to shake the blanket again, this time unfurling it across the floor of the cargo area. He pushed it over toward Ralph's back and slid in, bent nearly double in the low space.

He reached over and tugged the interior door handle. The door swung closed and shut with a snap.

Maxwell leaned on one elbow and tried to flatten out the blanket. When he had it reasonably smooth, he rolled Ralph onto his back. He left the fatigue jacket in place, on the off chance the blanket wasn't entirely natural fiber. He wasn't sure where acrylic came from; he had frankly never cared before. He pulled the edges of the blanket up and over his partner's body, including his bent legs, making a woolen cocoon.

As he snugged the blanket into place, he said, "I suppose you're wondering what's number three. There's always a number three."

"Yes, Bill," he said, in a squeaky, Mickey Mouse voice, "Tell me, what is number three?"

"Glad you asked, Ralph," he said seriously. "Number three is get you to a hospital once numbers one and two are squared away."

"I figure the EMTs are not going to get the whole Earth-fibers thing," he said. "Even if I tell them you're allergic to latex."

There was still no reaction from the swaddled figure lying next to him in the dark. He realized suddenly that now he had Ralph bundled up, he couldn't see if he was still breathing.

He tugged the top corners of the blanket away from Ralph's face, uncovering the fatigue jacket. Ralph's chest rose and fell with a quick, erratic rhythm.

"Not good, kid," he muttered. "I give you one job to do…"

He hesitated, waiting for the next inhalation. It didn't come. Ralph shuddered and lay still.

"Damn it," he said, yanking off the jacket. His elbow collided with the ceiling. He let out a string of curses he'd forgotten he knew.

"Can't work in here," he barked and kicked at the door handle. The door flew open and he shimmied out, dragging Ralph on his blanket behind him.

Within seconds, he had Ralph stretched out on the desert floor. He kneeled and positioned his hands over the smaller man's sternum. He called the numbers out loud as he pushed.

"One, two, three."

He waited. The ribs beneath his hands didn't move.

"One, two, three," he repeated and bent to breathe into Ralph's mouth. As he pinched the man's nostrils closed he felt a breath on his cheek.

He relaxed his grip and looked down Ralph's body. Sometime in the last few minutes the moon had finally risen. In its pale silver light he saw Ralph's chest slowly rise and fall.

He sagged.

"Ralph," he said softly. "I know you've got this built-in hippy, dippy streak that makes you feel like chewing off your own arm every time I tell you what to do. But just listen for once."

He brushed blond curls, cool with drying perspiration, away from his partner's forehead.

"Don't do that to me again," he whispered. Ralph stirred and gave a long exhale, something like a sigh.

Maxwell gave himself a brisk shake and sat back. He suddenly noticed the rocks digging into his knees. He scooted over and sat back on the balls of his feet ready to lift Ralph back into the wagon. But as he bent forward, he stopped.

Maybe it was a trick of the moonlight, but where his hands had laid on Ralph's chest, the skin was smooth. He looked closer. A white handprint stood out livid in a field of raw, weeping blisters.

He looked back at Ralph's face. The strained lines that had been there a few moments before had eased.

"Well, I'll be damned," Maxwell said.

------------------------------------------------

A few minutes later, he had Ralph back in the wagon. This time he left the blanket flat on the floor of the car. He reclined beside his partner, propped up on one arm.

He let out a long breath and slowly reached over with his right hand. With only the slightest hesitation, he lowered it to Ralph's abdomen. Silently, he counted to three, then lifted his hand away.

The moonlight slanting in through the car window showed another pale, smooth handprint on the blistered skin.

Maxwell suddenly noticed how efficiently the heater was warming up the small space. He reached across the back seat and twisted the nearest window crank. A sharp, cool breeze blew across the back of his neck, drying the sweat that had beaded there.

"Ok, Ralph," he said, rubbing his palm on his jeans leg. "We're going to look at this as a new kind of field medicine."

He glanced around the inside of the wagon.

"And this is certainly a new kind of field for me."

He set to work and after a while, he forgot about the strangeness. The sight of the tortured skin becoming smooth and whole again under his hand was slightly intoxicating. He felt a little like a faith healer.

When he finally thought to check his watch, it was 4:00 in the morning. He leaned back on his elbows and looked at Ralph.

His partner was breathing deeply and evenly. His face was relaxed and his eyes moved behind his closed lids in what looked like nothing more than restful sleep.

There was a skittering sound outside.

Maxwell rolled into a crouch and felt for his revolver. Sometime in the last few hours it had gotten in the way and he'd laid on the backseat of the car.

His fingers closed over the grip and he peered out the cracked window into the night. Nothing moved.

He gripped the back of the seat and eased himself over it, landing in a sitting position behind the driver's seat.

There was a sudden movement, close to the ground about a yard from the car. A low silver shape stood in the moonlight. He made out a long snout and pointed ears.

It was a coyote. It stood stock-still, staring at him through the glass. He stared back.

The coyote flicked an ear then turned and trotted off across the sand. It disappeared around the dune.

Maxwell's eyes traveled up the slope to where the alien still lay sprawled. Several times he'd thought about going out to look at it, but it never seemed as important as other, more immediate priorities. It wasn't going to get any deader.

He drew his legs up on the seat, preparing to clamber back over it, when a blast of sound cut through the night. He jumped, whacking his head against the ceiling.

The blaring noise resolved itself into a burst of static. His gaze shifted automatically to the radio.

The dial was spinning wildly. Snatches of music and sound blurted out in a staccato, multi-voiced monologue.

"You-did-Well-Mister-partners-zzz-You-will-Wait!-now-We are-coming-"

The headlights flared on, flashed bright, and dimmed. The dome light over Maxwell's head flickered crazily then cut on and off three times in rapid succession.

Outside, the desert lit up as a bright white beam of light rolled over the dune. It shone down for a long moment on the fallen alien, then traveled the remaining distance to the car.

Maxwell shoved himself up and over the seat, landing on the floor of the wagon next to Ralph. His partner's eyelids fluttered and slowly opened.

Ralph looked up at him, his forehead creased in evident puzzlement, then his eyes widened. He opened his mouth and drew in a breath, but before any words came, he flickered like an image on a bad TV and vanished.

Maxwell crouched there, staring dumbly at the empty blanket, then his jaw tightened. He kicked out at the wagon door and it flew open. He levered himself out and clambered to his feet.

He glared up at the mammoth ship hovering over the car.

"Where were you!" he screamed over the throb of its engine. "Where were you!"

Blue lights danced over the ship's surface. The car radio gave another blat of static.

"You-were-Appropriate-zzz-you-knew-of help-"

"It shouldn't have been me!" Maxwell shouted at the sky. "You were here. I know you were!"

He jabbed a finger at the dune. "That ship never made a radar signature that massive."

"Why didn't you come?" he shouted.

Flying sand sparkled in the air around him and, as suddenly as he had gone, Ralph was there, standing beside him dressed in a new red suit. The cape was draped over one arm.

"They couldn't come, Bill," he said quietly. "That thing could've taken out their entire ship."

Maxwell struggled to get his breathing under control.

"You're telling me they don't have guns on that thing?" he answered at last.

Ralph opened his mouth, but Maxwell held up a hand.

"Never mind, I know," he grated out the words. "They're too 'advanced'."

"Fine," he went on. "What about afterwards, huh? Where were they then?"

He took a deep breath.

"You almost died, Ralph," he said.

"I know," Ralph said simply. He looked up at the ship. "They explained it to me. They said it had to be you."

He looked at Maxwell. His eyes were clear and blue.

"They're as alien as the suit, Bill," he said. "They couldn't have done what you did."

Maxwell blinked and looked away. His face felt hot.

"Yeah, well," he looked up at the hovering ship. "I'm still pissed."

Ralph laughed.

"I'm tired," he said. "And I want to go home."

Maxwell pointed up.

"They done with you? Clean bill of health from the little green guys?"

Ralph shrugged.

"That's what they said. They need to do a little tidying up, but we can go."

"Tidy-" Maxwell's question broke off as multiple beams of red light shot out from the space craft.

They raced along the sand. Each time they hit a stray piece of Ralph's old suit, it glowed and blinked out. Several beams concentrated on the dead alien. It glowed and vanished. A larger beam shone down on the other side of the dune. There was a flash and the red lights cut off.

"Oh," Maxwell said. He blinked. "Hey, that reminds me. Did you ask for a ray gun?"

"No," Ralph said as he started back toward the car. "I didn't feel comfortable about it."

"Didn't feel comfortable!" Maxwell choked out. "Kid, after that little adventure I think a ray gun is the least they owe you."

He saw Ralph reach for the driver's seat door and laid a hand on his shoulder. With a slight pressure he turned the other man toward the second door.

"I'll drive," he said, pulling open the door and guiding his partner onto the seat. "What about the handbook?"

Ralph blinked sleepily as he sat down. Maxwell gently eased him down on his side and lifted his feet onto the seat so he lay curled on the bench.

"Forgot," Ralph said fuzzily.

"Right," Maxwell said, "Not a problem. We've managed this long." He tugged the new cape out of this partner's grasp and laid it across his legs.

"Next stop, home," he said, pushing the door closed.

He climbed into the front seat and spent a moment adjusting the legroom before he shifted the car into gear and backed away from the dune.

He barely noticed it when the looming space ship heeled over like a top and zoomed off in a glow of blue light.

The sun was painting the sky with pink and purple stripes when Maxwell pulled onto the ribbon of highway.

"Bill," came a sleepy voice from the back seat. "What am I going to tell Pam?"

Maxwell snorted.

"Well, kid," he said, glancing in the rearview mirror. "Why not try telling her you celebrated your anniversary this year by not being dead."

There was a soft chuckle.

"Yeah, maybe she'll buy that."

"If she doesn't," said Maxwell. "Have her come talk to me."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to tha-" the soft voice from the back seat said, fading away on the last word.

Maxwell checked the mirror. Ralph was sound asleep.

Maxwell looked ahead at the long stretch of highway. The only movement was a low shape trotting beside the road. He drew up beside it and the gray coyote looked over at him. Then it peeled away and trotted out across the rocky sand.

Bill Maxwell stretched in his seat. His knees ached. His back was sore. There was a strange knot in the pit of his stomach he didn't want to think too hard about. But all in all, he thought, he felt pretty good. Like he told the kid, they hadn't failed yet.

-end-

REVISED 24 Nov 2005

Author's Note:

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking the time to read this story. I had a lot of fun writing it and I'm glad to be able to share it with fellow fans.

I have posted a second, connected story called "In Your Dreams." It has a rather different tone than this one. It's got more action and a lot more violence. If that doesn't sound appealing, I wouldn't read it – you won't like it.

These are the first two parts of a planned arc of four stories and an epilogue, all taking place between what in our world are the Second and Third Seasons.

I've completed detailed outlines for the third and fourth parts and have started writing, so stay tuned!

Thanks again.

_and… Roscoe _


End file.
